The Angry Flame
by Divamercury
Summary: Sara goes undercover in a "gentlemen's club" where dancers are being murdered. Will she make it out alive or will she be the next victim? Please r/r!
1. Default Chapter

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Insert standard disclaimer here.

Thoughts are in these ' things.

Enjoy! And please, please review!

Chapter 1

Lately Jake and I had been working a case about dancers at a club called the Angry Flame. Three of them, on separate occasions, had vanished from the club and turned up brutally murdered a few days later. The common denominators in the case were that the three victims had all been stabbed in similar places and then strangled to death. 

"So, checking out the Angry Flame murders, huh?" Jake asked as I sat down at my desk to begin the workday.

"Yep. This is the biggest open case we've got right now," I said. "Better get started on it." I opened the file to read the new info, not expecting to find too much, and a memo to me from Dante dropped out. I scanned it, and my eyes widened. I crushed it in an angry fist. This time I was glad I was damaging a worthless piece of paper as opposed to something expensive that would have to come out of my paycheck. Like my office. Although the most I was ever nailed for were a few panes of glass once, but that wasn't the point. 

I got out of my seat and stormed to the door, flinging it open and savoring the crash as it banged against the opposite wall. (Hey, if I couldn't break anything, what's the harm in making some noise?) I heard a nervous "Pez?" from Jake behind me as I left the room. I had to get away from him so I wouldn't accidentally kill him.

I practically threw the door to Dante's office open and stormed in. Dante, perched at his desk, acted as if this was completely normal.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, throwing the memo at him. He smoothed it out on his desk and glanced at it.

"Oh, yes, Petzini. This is your assignment."

I winced. He always threw in a "t" in my name whenever he said it, and there was no "t" in "Pezzini." I think he just did it to piss me off. 

"You really expect me to do this?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"If you want this case to be solved. But, we don't have to worry about it if you don't want to. We'll just put it in the unsolved file, just like they did with your friend, Maria I think it was?"

My eyes narrowed. Yeah, it was Maria, my best friend, and that really struck a nerve. If I hadn't been in a building swarming with cops, and if I hadn't realized the fact that he wasn't worth getting a life prison term over, the Witchblade would have had him for breakfast for saying that. Speaking of which, the aforementioned weapon was glowing on my wrist in its bracelet form. Thankfully my sleeve was pulled down over it. But because of the situation—

"You have no right to mention that. You have no idea what you're talking about," I snarled. That was all I could do without getting in way too much trouble that was logical to deal with.

"But you can't do that," he mused, ignoring my previous comment. "You have a weakness for helping out poor, destitute prostitutes."

I got up to leave. I couldn't take any more of this shit.

"I'm solving this case, _Captain_, and I don't care what it takes or what you say." I was almost at the door when Dante said, "Oh, and I wouldn't mention this to McCartey, Petzini. You know how much trouble he'd have digesting it. Let's just keep this between us, shall we? Dismissed."

I ignored him and left, deciding not to tell Jake not because of what Dante said, but that it would be really embarrassing to tell Jake I'd be going undercover at a "gentlemen's club." He'd want to be my bouncer or something, and I couldn't deal with that. I decided not to let anyone know about this. It was just too degrading. Plus, I'd never live it down if the guys at the office got wind of it.

When I arrived back in my office, there was a Batman Pez dispenser lying across the file folder on my desk. I couldn't help smiling.

"Ha ha, Jake."

"Just thought you needed some sugar to brighten your morning, Pez," he said from beyond his own tower of files.

"I think you're right. This has been one crazy morning," I said, grabbing the dispenser and popping two candies in my mouth at once. I stuck Batman in the pocket of my jeans and snagged my helmet off my desk.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"Out."

"Does Dante know? He'll have your hide—again—if you go AWOL."

"He knows. I'll be back in about half an hour."

"Man, he knows, and he's letting you do something? I thought he hated you."

"He does. More like forcing me to do something, though. What I have to do won't exactly go into my book under "Fun." 

"You want me to come?"

"No thanks. It's no big deal."

I left the precinct and mounted my motorcycle, speeding out onto the road. I didn't stop until I reached a large, relatively ordinary cement building. The sign over the door read, "The Angry Flame, Gentlemen's Club." A huge—what else—flame was painted over the words, which were lettered in white capitals. I rubbed the Witchblade absently, then took a deep breath and walked inside, furious at Dante for making me do what I was about to do.

The club was enormous, much bigger than it seemed to be from the outside. The bar alone stretched along one entire wall, corner to corner, and was stocked with every kind of alcoholic beverage imaginable. Obviously they were closed, since it was so early in the day, only 9:00 AM, but there was a guy sitting at a table in the corner. He was practically buried in a mound of papers. I approached him.

"We're closed," he said immediately.

"No, really? I hadn't noticed," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm looking for a job, not a drink."

He finally looked up. I didn't react as I felt his eyes scanning me. He seemed satisfied.

"Name?" he asked.

"Sara Pezzini."

"Stage name?"

"Uh" Damn. I hadn't thought of that. Now I was just standing there like an idiot while my thoughts were buzzing around like angry bees in a hive. Jeez, Jake would go into overdrive if he knew what I was doing, Danny will give me the biggest tongue-lashing, even from beyond the grave, Dad is probably turning over in his gravewait a sec. Overdrive. I guess that'll have to do,' I thought.

"Overdrive," I told him. 

"Age?"

I gave him a Look. He shrugged.

"Can't have employees that are underage," he said.

"Do I look underage to you?" I asked. He shrugged. Jeez, I can't believe I'm even answering this,' I thought. I pulled out my driver's license, which stated my age. (Yeah, like I'm going to tell you my age.)

"Okay, Ms. Pezzini. You start tonight. Be here by 9, and be ready to go on at 9:30."

"Sure. And you are?"

"Jack Newman. The talent scout. And your boss."

"Okay, great." We negotiated the pay, both getting what we wanted.

"Well, see you tonight, Overdrive," Jack said. I returned with a smile so phony that the Secret Service would be all over me for counterfeiting if they knew about it.

I left the Angry Flame ready to kill someone. I managed to calm down after I'd snagged another espresso when I got back to the precinct.

"Did ya miss me, Jake?" I asked when I sat back down at my desk.

"Oh, yeah. You bet. Tons," Jake said absently. I shrugged, taking what I could get. That early in the morning Jake was usually in his own little world and didn't leave it until lunch. That, naturally, was when he pounced on the subject of where I'd gone.

"Sorry, Jake, but that's my business."

"Pez, I'm supposed to be your partner. Your backup. How can I do that if I don't know what you're doing half the time?"

"I'd love your help, really I would, but this is my business. I'm sorry, Jake, but you just can't help me with this one." 

I finished my lunch and went back to the office, feeling terrible for totally shutting him out. We didn't say much to each other for the rest of the day. Danny Woo, my former partner at the precinct before he was killed—right in front of me—was giving me furious glances from the corner; he was mad about the whole Angry Flame thing and the way I'd treated Jake, which surprised me because he had always seemed to dislike Jake. I just glared back at him with a look that said, "I can't help doing what I'm doing. I have no choice." He didn't seem to believe it, but accepted it as best he could. It wasn't like there was anything he could do about it.


	2. Chapter 2

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Some people have said that they've had trouble reading my entire story because of the length and lack of chapters. So, I'm renovating. Bear with me, and please review!

Chapter 2

That night was probably one of the strangest ones I've ever experienced, including those with Witchblade dreams. I had never pictured myself in a place like this, and yet here I was. I parked my bike about a block from the club and walked the rest of the way.

"Remember, Pez, going UC is normal in this job," I said. As I turned the corner, I was surprised to see the line of men snaking out of the club. The bouncer, Earl, was checking them as they went in. While I was walking up to the door, passing the crowd, I intercepted suspicious glances from the patrons. 

Jeez, not bloody likely,' I thought with disgust.

I made my way up to Earl.

"Uh, lady, you lost?" he asked.

"Uh, no? I'm Overdrive. I should already be in there," I said, pointing inside and ruing the words.

"Oh. Right, sorry," he said sheepishly. I sailed past him, rolling my eyes as I went.

"Bouncers," I muttered.

I found my way through the mob of people to the dressing rooms. 

Well, what to wear, Overdrive? Or not wear, as the case might come to be,' I thought with a shudder. I found something relatively neutral: some jogging pants and a red sleeveless shirt. Although it was cut lower than the ones I normally wore were (I discovered when I put it on), it was comfortable and so I stuck with it. I then pulled my hair back and secured it with a hair claw. I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror.

Not too bad, I guess,' I thought. I still can't believe I'm doing this in the first place, but I am not taking my clothes off. And anyone who touches the Witchblade is a dead man.'

"Hey, nice outfit there," someone said. I whirled, spotting a tall girl with very fair skin, black hair, and eyes so dark that they made me thing of Ian Nottingham's; it was literally like looking into two empty holes. The irises were dark enough, but she had outlined her entire eye with dark black liner, so she looked somewhat vampiric but still gorgeous. She was made up more than I was (I was going for the natural look) and she wore a long black robe over a black tank top and tight black pants. I wondered how many of those clothing articles would still be on her by the end of her set.

"Are you new here? I'm Ciara Darkheart, by the way. Stage name Ebony."

"Hi. Sara Pezzini, stage name Overdrive. That's an awesome name, by the way. What nationality?"

"Thanks. It's Irish. It means black, so in a way my first name and last name are the same."

"Well, it's beautiful. I'm part Irish myself, I think. I'm not sure, though. I was adopted."

"Oh. Well, my mother was Chinese and my dad was Irish. Strange mix, I know. I look like my mom except for the eyes; I have my dad's eyes. Anyway, you'd better watch out for Candy over there. I can tell that she already hates you," Ciara said. I glanced to my right and saw an overly made-up girl with stringy blonde hair and poisonous green eyes glaring at me.

"Candy?" I asked incredulously, looking back at Ciara. "Looks more like Lemon to me." Ebony cracked up.

"You're good. I can tell you'll make it here. As long as you don't take any crap from her, you'll do fine. She's one of the first girls that came here but she never got another job so she's stuck here. Think of her as the rose that was once the most beautiful in the bouquet, but got faded and dried up after a while. She thinks she's everything to this place, but one of these days the management will realize she's got no talent like they should have a long time ago and they'll get rid of her."

"Nice analogy. Why aren't you a writer or something instead of a"

"Stripper?"

"Yeah," I said, blushing.

"It's okay. I am a writer, anyway. Or at least an aspiring one. But even writers have to eat. SoI don't have much of a choice. One of these days my books'll be out and I won't have to worry about where the next meal will be coming from," Ciara said. 

"Yeah, well, this is just a sideline for me, too. I really hate the idea of doing it, but" I trailed off. I wasn't going to go around telling people I was a UC cop. I might end up dead if I told the wrong person, and the entire point of being UC was that no one knew that you were a cop.

"Well, you'll get used to it. I can help you if you want," Ciara said. 

"Um" I wasn't sure how to respond to that. 

"Oh, don't worry. I don't actually take my clothes off. I just act like it. The most I do is take off my robe, then start dancing and the guys are so taken in that in their mind's eye I'm barely clothed, if at all."

"That's kind of what I was planning to do, too. If you would help me, I'd really appreciate it."  
"Okay, sure. Follow me," Ciara said, and we left the dressing room. We entered the club and dodged the patrons, arriving at the bar.

"First rule of stripping: loosen up first. I usually down about 2 shots before I get up there," Ciara said, signaling to one of the bartenders, whose name was Luke, I discovered later. He slid a shot of what appeared to be scotch down the bar and she snagged it.

"Thanks. I'll need three more, Luke. One for me and two for my friend here."

Luke complied and then came down to us.

"So, Eb, who's your new friend?" Luke said, trying to be suave and debonair and failing miserably.

"Overdrive. I'm new here," I said, extending a hand. He grasped it and shook it firmly. I then snagged one of my shots and raised it.

"Down the hatch," I muttered. I snapped my head back and swallowed it. I exhaled sharply after it.

"Whoa, take it easy, O-Drive. We don't want you passing out before your set," Luke said with a grin. I smiled back.

"Smooth," I said.

"What, Luke or the liquor?" Ciara asked.

I cocked an eyebrow and glanced from my glass to Luke and then back to Ciara.

"Definitely the liquor," I said. Ciara burst out laughing.

"Jeez, Eb, your friend is going to be as bad as you at giving me grief," Luke said dejectedly and continued down the bar, offering his bartending services to some of the patrons. After he was out of earshot Ciara and I shared a chuckle. We each polished off our second shot and then Ciara was up to perform.

"Just watch what I do, Sara. It's not hard, believe me, so you'll get it," she said with a wink. She climbed up on the runway and the guys all started whistling. The announcer said, "And now, for your entertainment pleasure, our own little enigma, Ebony!"

Ciara's song was one I didn't recognize, but she told me later that it was "Irresistible" by the Corrs, an Irish group that she was particularly fond of. It had good rhythm, and she seemed to float as she moved around. True to her word, she only removed her robe, and I watched as the men around the runway stared at her hungrily. I rolled my eyes. Ciara was graceful and knew what she was doing apparently. I felt really sorry for her because I had a respected career and she didn't. I just hoped that she would be a writer one day and that she would be able to escape from this underworld.

Before I realized it, Ciara's set was over and I was up. I gulped.

Maybe I should have had another shot,' I thought, my eyes darting back to the bar. Well, into the lion's den we go, Witchblade. Only question is: Will we make it out alive?'

I climbed up on the runway and heard the confused patrons mumbling. I smiled at their ignorance.

"Well, guys, we've got a special treat for you tonight. We've got a new girl starting tonight. Let's welcome Overdrive!" the cheesy announcerannounced. 

Well, here goes everything.'


	3. Chapter 3

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Please read and review! Here's Chapter 3!

Chapter 3

The applause was wary. I wasn't expecting much, so the half-heartedness of my paying spectators wasn't that much of a surprise.

Well, boys, if you want a show, then you'll get one.'

The downbeats of what seemed to be a fast-paced song ("I Wanna Be Bad" by Willa Ford, Ciara told me later) began. I froze. I had no idea what I was going to do. But the music had its own ideas. That and the Witchblade had suddenly come to life, glowing like no tomorrow. Together they created a somewhat euphoric feeling that coursed through my veins. If I had tried with all my might, I couldn't have stopped myself from moving to the music. Somewhere during my set, I noticed that a man's hand clasped around the Witchblade, and in anger pain from its irritation across my forehead, snapping me back to reality. I did the only thing I could do at the timeI lashed out with my foot and connected with his head. Apparently the other patrons took the hint because no one else touched my bracelet. When I was wondering if the set would never end, the song's closing blared through the room and the announcer said, "Give it up for Overdrive!" I finally realized that it was time for me to step down. I leapt joyfully down off of the runway and found Ciara in our previous spots at the bar. 

"Nice job, especially for a new girl. But why did you kick that guy?" she asked, confused.

"I have problems with people touching my bracelet," I said. "It's a habit: someone touches the bracelet, they get pulverized." In more ways than I care to admit,' I thought, rubbing the stone of the Witchblade absently, thinking about the damage it could do. I'd have to be careful about it while I was here.

"I'm kind of the same way about this," Ciara said, gesturing to some jewelry around her neck that I hadn't noticed before. It was a thin metal wire of sorts, and a piece of the same metal embedded with a deep black stone was suspended from it, the pendant resting against her throat.

"Whoa, nice," I said. "What is it?"

"It's onyx. I call it the Ciarstone, not after my name. Ciar and Ciara both mean black in Old Irish."

"Well, people have called this the Witchblade, though I don't really know why," I lied. I could guess exactly why they called it the Witchblade. 

"Interesting."

"So, what's next?" I asked, not knowing what to expect.

"Oh, just Candy. Watch and you'll see what I meant by my description," Ciara said, and I nodded.

We watched her perform, and I wasn't impressed. Neither, it seemed, were most of the patrons, except maybe the drunkest ones. 

"Pigs," I muttered. Ciara nodded.

"Some guys are just here ever once in a while, but there are the regulars, of course. It's like they don't have anything better to do than to come down here and watch us," she said. We watched Candy as she continued dancing to this incredibly cheesy theme song (titled the same as her name by Mandy Moore) and when the set was over I feigned nausea and gagged, relishing Ciara's reaction of helpless laughter. I had never had a "girl-friend" before, because I had really been one of the guys for as long as I could remember. When girls my age were having sleepovers and doingugh, manicures, I was out playing football and cruising arcades. So needless to say it felt incredible to have a woman actually seem to comprehend me and my somewhat unorthodox humor. And personality. And maybe even my taste for liquors (most women found me odd because of the fact that I enjoyed going out for drinks with the guys after work). 

The club closed at one in the AM, but I was out of there at midnight.

"Where are you off to so early?" Ciara asked. 

"I've got to get to work in the morning, and being able to get out of my bed requires me to actually have the strength to move myself, and that calls for sleep. See you tomorrow, Ciara," I said. I was almost through the door when Candy blocked my way. Up close I could tell that she must have had a few bad tangles with tanning beds in her past because even though she didn't seem to be that old, wrinkles were already abundant in her face.

"And where exactly are you going, Overdrive?" she inquired. "The night's not over yet."

"That's none of your damn business, Candy," I said, stating her stage name in the same hateful tone she had stated mine in. "In fact, I actually have a legit job that I'll have to show up for in the morning; therefore, I need some sleep. Good night," I said, brushing forcefully past her and leaving the club, stomping the whole way back to my bike. Straddling my bike, I revved her engine and relished the sound. I shoved my helmet on and leaned forward, pulling out of the parking lot.

There were a lot of things bouncing around in my mind on my journey home. Like why the Witchblade had reacted the way it had to my performance. That was a good question to start with. It had always seemed to react to my most intense emotions, and I had a feeling that something like what had gone on in there was definitely an intense emotion. 

I unlocked the door to my apartment a few minutes later and when I opened the door, sounds of someone walking around coming from inside reached my ears. I drew my gun from its holster in the inner pocket of my leather jacket and held it down in front of me. Stepping sideways, I climbed the stairs silently, thanking the inner sense that had told me that morning to wear my boots. When I reached the top step, I melded into the shadows and stepped silently through the apartment. I saw the figure standing by my bed, staring at it almost as if in wonder.

"Freeze!" My voice shattered the silence. The figure whirled, its trench coat flying out around him. I glanced past him to the wall behind, noticing that the window was open. My eyes flew to the face, and I was correct in my recent supposition.

"Good evening, Lady Sara."


	4. Chapter 4

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

A friend pointed out to me that I am lacking in the romance department, so for all you Sara/Ian shippers (myself included), here's a little romance scene. Enjoy Chapter 4!

Chapter 4

"Good evening, Nottingham. Might I ask why you're here, although I'm pretty sure that I know the answer to that already," I said, lowering my gun. I had a feeling that he meant no threat.

"I wanted to speak to you, but you weren't home," Ian replied.

"So you just decided to let yourself in? Well, actually, that shouldn't surprise me because my personal privacy preferences haven't exactly stopped you in the past," I said, remembering all the times that I had come back to my house at night to find him there uninvited.

"Where were you? It's unusual for you to be out at this hour."

"It's none of your damn business where I was. In fact, my life is really none of your damn business. And besides, you wouldn't believe me if I told you where I've been tonight," I said, thinking about what his (or anyone else's) reaction would be if I told the truth.

"I'd like it to be my business, Sara."

Whoa. Ian called me simply Sara? That was weird.

"And why might that be?"

"I want to make sure that you remain safe. You are far too valuable to lose."

"Did your master tell you to be my babysitter? Because if he did, you can tell him I don't need one. I'm a big girl, Nottingham. I can look out for myself. And as for the valuable thing, well, that's a good one. Valuable to whom? Irons? Sorry, but that's not something I'd take as a compliment." I turned, heading for the kitchen. Somehow I ran into something and discovered it was Ian.

"How did you?" I tried to ask, glancing back at where he had been standing and where he was now. He could do things like that: catch bullets in his hands, appear out of nowhere (a skill he used quite often around me), and perform some other really unusual tasks. He wasn't your everyday guy. In fact, he wasn't even your everyday assassin.

"Sara" He couldn't finish his thought, and his eyes dropped to the floor. For some reason my eyes dropped as well, but I glanced down at the Witchblade as opposed to the hardwood planks. Previous to this, my counterpart had been resting in icy lethargy against my right wrist, and yet all of a sudden it came to life, burning into the skin at my wrist in anticipation of what Ian was about to do. It always had strange reactions to him, reactions that it never graced me with about anyone else, and this was merely one of them. I looked back up at him and his dark, almost bottomless hazel eyes locked with my green ones, which surprised me. He never looked me straight in the eye if he could avoid it. 

"It's true that my master considers you valuable for his own selfish reasons, but you are valuable to the entire world in addition." And I could have sworn that he added almost inaudibly, "And to me as well," but I wasn't sure.

"Oh, right. The whole Sara must save the planet from evil' thing. Well, just let me make this clear, Ian. I live in New York City, and I save my little corner of the planet from evil by bringing down some of the sleaziest criminals ever imagined for committing unspeakable crimes to their fellow men and women, and I don't have a problem with this. Sometimes my stomach does, but that's not the point. However, it's a physical impossibility for me to save the entire planet from various evils anyway, not to mention I have a large collection of people after the Witchblade—and my own life—at different times. Even though I am the Wielder, and even though this—" I paused, holding up the arm on which the Witchblade rested, "—has awesome power, how come it doesn't let me use that power when I really need it? Riddle me that, Batman," I said, fingering the Batman Pez dispenser in my pocket that Jake had given me that morning. Had it been that morning? It felt like years ago. And did I just call Nottingham by his first name?

"Sara, the Witchblade trusts you. Trust it. Eventually it will open its secrets up to you, but they might not become as lucid as you want them to be immediately."

Typical cryptic Ian Nottingham response. You couldn't get a straight answer out of that man if you used a corkscrew. I voiced this thought next.

"How come no one in this town can ever give me a straight answer about this thing?" I asked angrily. Ian responded with silence, as was a habit of his.

"Fine. Listen, I'm going to bed. I've had enough of this conversation," I said, turning to go. Ian caught my wrist and turned me back around.

"Before we part, Lady Sara, please allow me to relieve my mind of something that has been nagging at it for quite a while," he said.

I cocked an eyebrow, confused. "Well, sure, whatever," I said somewhat indifferently. 

"All right," he said, pulling me closer to him. Inwardly my heart was racing and my mind was reeling but outwardly I showed no emotion. 

Oh, my God, is he going to do what I think he's going to do?' I asked myself.

He was, and he did. His ebony-gloved hand cupped my chin and brought it up to his. Our lips met, and the Witchblade went crazy. Without looking at it I knew that its stone was swirling madly at the connection between us. My mind was swirling about as quickly as the patterns of the stone. I had always thought that this was a complete impossibility, something buried deep in the back of the filing cabinet that was my mind under "Impossible Daydreams & Fantasies." I mean, what girl with two eyes and an imagination wouldn't think about Ian Nottingham like that? Well, maybe quite a few, since Ian didn't get out much. But any that knew he existed (like me) certainly wouldn't stop themselves from thinking that way. 

The kiss lasted for what seemed like ages. Finally we broke apart and just like that, he was gone. One of his other talents: vanishing without warning.

I sat down on my bed, dazed, and remained like that for a few moments, and then flopped back on it, sighing. I smiled in spite of myself. 

Wow. That was incredible,' I thought. Well, Sara, remember that, because I have a strong feeling that it won't ever happen again.'


	5. Chapter 5

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Enjoy Chapter 5, and PLEASE review!

Chapter 5

I woke up at my normal time the next morning, coming out of an odd, Witchblade-induced dream involving Ian Nottingham. I think I broke my alarm clock (again) in the process of pounding it a few times to turn it off. I yawned and stretched, then groggily made my way to the shower. 15 minutes later I emerged, dried my hair, and dressed in my standard issue: jeans, white shirt, black leather jacket. I pulled on my boots, devoured a bagel in record time, grabbed my gear (motorcycle helmet, badge, keys, and gun) off the coffee table and left my apartment, locking the door behind me.

The engine of my motorcycle hummed as I sped through the streets of New York City, ignoring the occasional obscene gesture from those who didn't like my driving style. When I was really late I'd return most of them, but I was on time for once. The roads weren't congested, and thus less painful to drive without the hassle of early AM traffic. I enjoyed the ride that day, because it was just beginning to be fall and the air was crisp, cool, and refreshing to drive in. 

I pulled into a parking spot outside the precinct building, getting off the bike and removing my helmet. I shook my head vigorously, which arranged my hair in a more comfortable position, and walked inside. Jake was already there, waiting for me by the door to the main room of the Homicide department.

" Morning, Pez," he said.

" Morning, Jake," I replied, taking a look at him. He looked pretty tired but was cheerful.

"Long night?" I teased. "Hot date?"

He just grinned, making me believe that my theories were correct.

"You have no idea," he said, smiling blissfully. I cracked up, which made his smile wider.

"Well, someone's in a good mood this morning," Jake said. "Normally I can't get you to crack a smile, let alone laugh, before you've had your coffee."

I nodded, agreeing with him as we proceeded inside, and he laughed. Dante shot me a condescending look, and I returned it with a cold glare.

"Chill, Pez," Jake said as we reached the coffee machine. 

"I'm fine, Jake. It's just that whenever Dante's around he puts a serious damper on everything." Jake nodded in agreement.

"Well, since you've had such a "long night," I'll get the coffee today. But don't get used to it," I said. Jake smiled (something he was doing a lot of that day) and said, "Thanks, Pez, I owe you."

"Damn right you do. But we'll discuss that later. See you in a sec."

Jake left with an Oh, no,' look on his face. I grinned. 

I snagged 2 cups of coffee at the machine and was preparing to return to my office when I felt the Witchblade buzz. I glanced down at it and saw the stone's brilliant red glow. I headed for the nearest filing cabinet and set the cups down, then pulled my sleeve over it until it covered the Witchblade's stone. I then grabbed the cups again and continued on my way, all the while having the strangest feeling that someone was watching me. I could practically feel the piercing gaze on my back. I decided to ignore it and, after many delays, reached my office. I entered and slammed the door behind me.

"It is so hard for a girl to get a lousy cup of coffee these days," I remarked, sipping mine.

Big mistake. I coughed several times, trying not to choke.

"—And that's what this is—lousy," I said between coughs. 

Jake laughed until I sent him a Look, still choking. 

"Well, if you really want to die, then by all means drink this," I said, my coughs subsiding. He took the coffee from me.

"Uh, thanks, Pez. I think." 

"I wouldn't be too sure," I replied. "Could be toxic waste, you never know."

While Jake was pondering this, the door to our office burst open and hit the opposite wall with a bang. Dante was in one of his moods again.

"McCartey, Petzini, we've got trouble downtown. Warehouse district." He left. He's really one to tell you exactly how it is, huh? Unfortunately the words get in his way.

I grimaced. I hated the warehouse district, for that was the area in which a cop could find just about anything that he or she didn't ever want to see. Some of the most gruesome, nightmare-inducing, forensic-team-field-day-causing crimes were committed there, and I preferred to stay away from it as much as I could. Obviously, this was not one of those times.

"Let's roll," I said, and we left the precinct, snagging a patrol car and heading for the warehouses.

"Well, wonder what beautiful picture we'll find today?" I asked.

"Don't get your hopes up. It'll probably be messy—" 

"—As all warehouse district crimes turn out to be," I injected.

He nodded. "Yeah, basically."

We found the location without much trouble; there were a lot of forensics team members already there and that many cars in a small area of the warehouse district signaled one thing: homicide. Usually very gruesome homicides turned out to be drug-related most of the time, such as drug deals gone bad. Lots of dealers and other scum got their kicks in the warehouse district, thus the reason for all of my most eye-catching cases.

I found a friend of mine, a uniform named Alcott, and approached him for some news.

"Hey, Al, what happened?" I asked, Jake appearing at my left.

"It's not pretty in there, Pez. Someone really had a field day with something sharp. The investigators think it was a razorblade."

"Okay, so why the big deal? Run-of-the-mill homicide, why did Dante put this much stress on it?" I asked.

"That's the part that no one can figure out. It just seems like a drug deal gone way wrong or something."

"Well, thanks for the info, Al. We'll check it out."


	6. Chapter 6

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Enjoy Chapter 6 and please review!

Chapter 6

I nodded to Jake and we headed inside. The unmistakable stench of blood seeped out of the door and reached us feet before we stepped into the building. 

Well, that's a good sign,' I thought sarcastically.

Alcott had been right about it not being pretty. In fact, "macabre" was more the word that came to my mind. Blood was everywhere: on the floor mainly, but there were spots on the ceiling and on two walls where it had reached as well with what must have been some pretty impressive spurts. The guy, apparently a rich stiff of some kind from the suit he was wearing, had been decapitated. His body was in a chair and the head on the table beside it, and from the evidence I saw, it had taken a long time to get him that way. The person hadn't been very good with sharp objects and had taken short, jagged cuts. I cringed and turned the other direction.

Don't puke, Pezzini, you see stuff like this a lot, just don't puke,' I kept telling myself. I managed to keep my stomach's contents down and then turned back to face the body. That's when I saw it. 

"Jake, get me an evidence bag," I said. He dashed out of the building, glad to have an excuse for fresh air (the reek was almost overpowering) and returned with the evidence bag I'd requested in addition to rubber gloves and tweezers. I put on the gloves, took the tweezers, and reached toward the small piece of cardboard under the chair in which the body was. I grasped it and pulled my arm back. I examined the evidence, which was in fact a matchbook from the Angry Flame. My eyes widened. I glanced back at the head on the table and realized that I recognized the victim. The Witchblade made me flash back to the previous night. I distinctly remembered seeing that guy at the club, and it was up close that I'd seen him 

He was the guy I'd kicked for screwing with the Witchblade.

That was probably why it remembered him. It pissed her off. Snapping out of my trance before Jake noticed, I slipped the matchbook into the evidence bag and sealed it, and we left.

"That's about all I saw, except blood and gore," I told Jake, taking off the gloves and pitching them in a nearby garbage can and returning the tweezers to a forensics investigator. 

Jake and I left the scene. In the car on the way back to the precinct, I was very quiet. So now this psycho was going after not only the dancers of the Angry Flame, but the patrons as well. The murderer was playing a dangerous game, and I was right in the middle of it. I'd have to do a lot of prying at the Angry Flame. 

That afternoon passed like a blur. All I remember was filling out some reports for my latest case. The victim, whose name I found out after the body had been identified through fingerprints, dental records, and what must have been a tear-jerking visual from family, was Max Oakland. I'd never seen the man before my first night at the Angry Flame, but for some reason I felt like his name was familiar. I remembered what Irons had said to me once: "Nothing is coincidence," meaning that everything was connected. I had yet to find the link to this, however.

The next thing I knew I was pulling into the parking lot a block from the Angry Flame. Nothing from about five o'clock until then, nine o'clock, had registered. I left the lot, turned the corner, and entered the club, heading straight for the dressing room. There I caught up with Ciara, and I asked her if she'd heard about Max Oakland. 

"Oh, yeah. He was a regular here, anywhere from three to five nights a week. He must not have had anything better to do, but I would have thought that being a lawyer, he'd have had some case to deal with," she said.

So he was a lawyer,' I thought. Then I remembered; I'd seen him advertise on TV to try and reel in more business. Apparently, it hadn't worked very well. I'd have to check that out.

"Well, it's weird that someone killed him," I remarked.

"You're telling me. He and the boss, Gerald East, were best pals. Never went anywhere without each other. Rumor has it that East let him come free of charge all the time because they were so tight," Ciara said. 

Well, now I was confused. A lawyer, the best friend of the club's owner, was killed, and so were three of the dancers at the club. Was someone after Gerald East? Interesting thoughts.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Ciara went on before me, as usual, and did a wonderful job. When she hopped down off the runway I noticed that she was muttering rhythmically to herself. Taking a deep breath and emptying my third shot out of its glass (I found that three shots worked better than two), I stepped up, performed as quickly as was humanly possible, and got off the runway so fast that to other onlookers I must have looked like a blur. I barely took time to change or to say goodbye to Ciara. She didn't seem to mind that much, though; she was absorbed in writing verbatim something that had occurred to her while performing, a poem no doubt. Apparently she got some of her best ideas for writing up on the runway. Go figure. 

Anyway, the reason for my unusual rush was that I had appropriated the evidence, reports, and other pieces of information about the Oakland murder and was planning to pore over them when I got home. I was trying to find connections to something that might produce someone's motive to kill the guy. Boy, was I surprised at what I found.

I got home at about 10:45 and immediately sat down at my desk, flipping through reports and reading background information on the victim, as well as interviews of those closest to him. Most of the testimonies were the same; none of his relatives thought he had any enemies, let alone a deadly one, despite his despised profession. Blah, blah, blah.

A crash from outside brought me back down to earth. 


	7. Chapter 7

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

I don't own any of these characters and I'm not making any money off of this story. Please don't sue me!

Chapter 7

"What the hell?" I muttered, confused. I scrambled out of my chair and ran to the window, peering out cautiously. A garbage can had been blown over by the unusually strong wind that night. I shook my head.

God, Sara, jumping at noises now? Chill out,' I thought to myself. When I sat back down at the desk, a name sprang out at me from the report I had just turned to. Kenneth Irons.

"Well, speaking of the Devil," I said to myself, grinning at my humor, and read the report in depth. I was very curious as to why Irons would be connected to Oakland. 

The answer came to me a few paragraphs later. Evidently Oakland had been employed by Irons three weeks prior to his death to handle one of Irons's frequent little legal snags, but lost the case. According to his record, Oakland could hardly be called a very skilled lawyer, having barely passed the bar exam, and Irons was the type that hired no one but the best to work for him. Take Ian Nottingham for example, the best of the best when it came to being an assassin. Why would he want Oakland, a terrible attorney, to handle that case, no matter how trivial? It seemed like it was time to pay a visit to everyone's favorite billionaireafter a few hours of sleep. 

"You can wait until morning, Irons," I said to the report. I took a quick shower, slipped into some pajamas, and was out like a light as soon as my head touched the pillow.

The next morning I woke up when a particularly irritating ray of sunlight focused itself in the exact place that would blind me when I became half-conscious. Cursing under my breath, I performed my usual morning routine, snagging a bagel (again) after grabbing my gear and headed out the door, locking it behind me as always.

Checking in with Jake at the precinct, I didn't stay long, taking just enough time to drop off the reports and details on the Oakland case and to snag a cup of espresso, coffee of the day. After those tasks I left and then took off on my bike. My destination: Vorschlag Industries, brainchild (I thinkha ha) of Kenneth Irons, one of the ones on the top of my "least favorite people in the world" list. He was ranked up there with Dante, and you know there's no love lost between my captain and myself. We have the perfect example of a hate-hate relationship.

I reached the enormous building in fifteen minutes and entered unchallenged. The receptionist looked up from filing her nails and announced, "Mr. Irons is expecting you, Detective," then returned to her extremely exhausting task.

"I'm overwhelmed by your enthusiasm," I said, shaking my head. I doubt the receptionist even heard me. I proceeded back to Irons's penthouse/office. It was hard to distinguish exactly what it was. The fire was roaring in the fireplace, as usual (I think he must have been chronically cold, because that fire was roaring even in summer), and he was sitting in his chair staring at it. 

"Well, I certainly would have thought that being a CEO of an important company would require you to actually do something during the day, not just sit there staring into a fireplace all day, but I guess I was wrong," I remarked. His response was to turn around and turn his icy-blue gaze on me, his typical sneer in place across his lips. He didn't dignify me with an answer.

"Well, you're looking particularly cynical today, Irons," I said, trying to get a response. 

Again, silence.

"Well, as much fun as I'm having just standing here staring at you, Irons, you know what? I actually have a reason for being here, believe it or not."

"Pray tell," he replied blandly.

"Right. I wouldn't dare waste any more of your precious fire-staring time," I said, ignoring his venomous look. "Okay, business. You've no doubt heard about the murder of Max Oakland?"

"It came up on the news," he said simply. Obviously I'd have to be more specific to get more information than that.

"Well, I was reading through the reports about Oakland's past and I was quite surprised when I found your name attached to one of them. Why exactly was that?"

"I was informed by an associate that he was a decent lawyer and three weeks ago I hired him to take care of a minor lawsuit. Unfortunately my advisor was grievously mistaken in his evaluation of Oakland's talents and we lost the case, costing me a pretty penny. We parted on less-than-friendly terms and I haven't spoken to him since."

"Do you have any idea why he might have been murdered?" I inquired.

"Not in the slightest. Maybe you should try one of his other dissatisfied clients; I'm sure they would have a much greater motive to kill him than I would, as you seem to be implying, Sara."

"I'm not implying anything," I lied. Irons could have had anyone commit the crime; I'd seen him resort to unusual methods to achieve his ends. 

"Of course not," he said, lying as much as I had been.

Realizing that that was about all that I could get out of him, I said, "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Irons," swallowing my pride and addressing him formally. He merely rubbed the scar on his hand, identical to the one on my chest. It was in the form of two perfect interlocked circles (picture a Venn diagram) and had been caused by the Witchblade. Irons had tried to wear it once, but as he was a man and a pretender, it left him and he had been obsessed with it ever since. To tell the honest-to-God truth, I didn't blame the Witchblade at all for getting off his hand.

"Anytime, Sara," he said, turning back to his fire.

Man, he's weird,' I couldn't help thinking as I left. On my way out of the office I collided with none other than Ian Nottingham.


	8. Chapter 8

The Angry Flame 

By Divamercury 

Chapter 8

We both seemed a little self-conscious now that we were actually face-to-face after the events of the previous evening.

"Good morning, Lady Sara," Ian said awkwardly, his eyes drifting down to the floor.

"Hi, Nottingham. What's new?" I asked, trying in vain to initiate small talk.

He clearly didn't know how to respond, and I gathered this from the dense silence that permeated the corridor. 

"Where were you? I expected to see you in there," I said, jerking a thumb back towards Irons's office. 

"I was performing an errand," he said simply.

"Oh. Well, I've got to be going, but" I couldn't think of what to say. "It was nice seeing you," I finally decided, ignoring my mind's protest at how lame that was.

"Yes, I agree. Goodbye, Lady Sara," Ian said (a bit dejectedly, I noticed), and he left while I stood watching him go. He pushed the door gently closed behind him, but it didn't close completely and a crack was still visible between the door and the doorframe. For some reason the look on Irons's face as the door was closing made me want to stick around, so I did, leaning against a wall casually. Any passersby would assume I was waiting my turn to see Irons and wouldn't bother me about it. I carefully slid closer to the crack in the door and continued to lean, eavesdropping all at once.

"Has the task been performed?" Irons queried. 

"Yes," Ian replied. I noticed the absence of "master" in his response. 

Apparently Irons did as well, but made no real mention of it. He just seemed ruffled. 

"Well, that's good. Now on to your next assignment."

Ian visibly blanched, and I raised an eyebrow slightly. What would make him, a hit man of all things, pale? I was about to find out.

"Have you gotten close to her?"

"Yes, but your errand was not my inspiration for it."

"It should be, my Casanova. Remember where your loyalties lie."

"I am keeping that in mind," Ian replied defiantly.

"That remains to be seen, Ian. I am telling you—and have been for some time— to seduce Sara Pezzini."

Oh my God!' I screamed in my head. Irons, you are such a creep! I will so get you for this!'

"I consider Sara a friend, even though she may not return the feeling, and I don't hurt my friends."

Well, thanks, Ian, that's nice of you,' I thought. 

"I suppose you wouldn't. It's not like there are many of them to speak of, and it's difficult to harm someone that doesn't exist," Irons said. Ian recoiled. 

I gasped, but stifled it instantly. Ouch! Irons, that was cold, even for you, the Ice King,' I thought, my eyes widening. I studied Ian's expression. He looked like all the mirth had just been sucked out of the world. But Irons didn't stop there.

"And you are correct in thinking that she doesn't feel the same way about you. Why should she? All you are to her is a preprogrammed assassin without a mind of your own to speak of, and an extremely subservient one at that."

I could tell that each word was cutting deeper into him than the last, but he stood strong. Good for him, at least one of us was. Each word Irons spoke was cutting into me, too, and I sank down toward the floor, feeling terrible. Irons was right about how I had previously seen Ian, and that made my face burn with shame.

"All the same, I won't do it. It's not right to do something like that to her, especially after she lost her lover under unfortunate circumstances—"

"—You're dismissed, Ian. Get out of my sight immediately."

I sprang away from the door, knowing that I was in exactly the wrong place should the door open in the next ten seconds and I want to remain unseen. Thankfully the corridor was very short, its floor was carpet-covered which muffled my footsteps, and I was able to bolt out of the building before Ian reached the door. I sprinted to my motorcycle and headed back to the precinct, Irons's cruel words echoing through my mind and sending me into the biggest guilt trip ever experienced by a human being.

As I was speeding through the streets of New York, I was furious with myself. I couldn't believe that Irons had hit the nail on the head about describing how I had felt about Ian, and I just hoped that it wasn't too late to undo the damage done. Thanks to the Witchblade (which had a curious fondness for Ian, I had discovered) I could distinctly see each time I had put Ian down, reliving the flash of emotion through his eyes that I had never been able to identify until the moment I reviewed it. Complete and total sorrow. I winced when I snapped back to earth, realizing something that just made my insides writhe with a surge of guilt

I was worse than Irons. 

Ian withstood Irons's abuse (physical, verbal, and emotional, as I could prove after seeing evidence of each) on a regular basis and dismissed most of it (except the scene I had witnessed). In contrast, I had never given him a single iota of trust, of kindness, or even of plain, common decency. And he was going out of his way to protect me, thinking about my loss of Conchobar recentlyI hadn't said much about it to anyone, but until recently I had felt like I was dying inside, but I was beginning to cope, to move on with my life. And now, with these strange developmentsI was thoroughly disgusted with myself. 

I arrived back at the precinct in a foul mood, fouler than usual. I sank down into my desk chair once I reached my office and dove into a stack of paperwork, trying to find anything that would make me take my mind off of the events of that morning. I barely acknowledged my lunch break, devouring a bag of Doritos and sipping a Dr. Pepper before diving right back into my work. I hardly heard Jake when he tried to brief me on something he found important to a case we had been working on.

"That's nice, Jake," I said absently, ignoring his irritated look. I shrugged and went back to my work, all the time thinking, Just how do you apologize for belittling someone's existence for as long as you've known them?' One more question I'd thrown out into the cosmic vacuum without knowing the answer.


	9. Chapter 9

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Are you intrigued yet? If not, then read Chapter 9 and then decide! :)

Chapter 9

At quitting time that day I gathered up some new reports with developments in the Oakland case and put them in a small leather briefcase I kept lying around. I used it to take reports back and forth from work when riding my motorcycle most of the time. I found out too many times that no matter how hard I tried, I had problems with holding onto all of them when riding in an unenclosed vehicle that was traveling at least 50 miles per hour, so I came up with the system.

I made it home in fifteen minutes and entered the building slowly. No matter how much I wanted to make it to my apartment, I just didn't feel like expending that much energy at once, so I took it slowly. 

One step at a time,' I couldn't help thinking, and finally after what seemed like years I reached the door to my apartment. I opened it and glared disdainfully at the flight of stairs in front of me.

More stairs,' I grumbled to myself. I climbed them as well and walked out into the middle of the main room of my apartment. I was glad to be home. I dropped the briefcase on my desk as I passed it and walked to the window, staring out through the almost-dusk at New York City and at Manhattan in the distance. After taking a brief survey of the apartment, making sure I didn't have any unexpected "guests," I sat down at my desk and tried to pore over the reports. I wanted to finish up this case and find the murderer so I could pull out of the Angry Flame. But did I really want to? That lead to another mystery.

Part of me cringed every time I went near that building, because of what went on in there. To tell the truth, the Angry Flame was cleaner than most of the places of its kind that I had heard about. Even so, it was still a club of that kind. Yet part of me felt strangely satisfied when I was up there. The feeling, the euphoria that crept over me, it was frightening and yet I looked forward to it each time I climbed up on that runway. And that was what scared me.

I shook the thoughts from my head. I'd have to leave eventually, so why worry about it? I again tried to focus on the reports but found myself starting to doze. Before I realized it, sleep had overcome me and the last thing I remembered was laying my head on the desk. 

I found myself standing in the middle of a green, grassy field. Well, it must have been green and grassy at one point, but as I looked at it all I could see were fallen soldiers and blood everywhere, as far as my sight reached. Various swords and weapons were strewn haphazardly across the battlefield, most belonging to the slain or wounded. I stared down at myself, looking at my silver armor that seemed to be impervious to everything, still almost spotless. Then I looked at the survivors of this great battle, the remnants of _my _army, I realized. They formed a circle around me. At that close proximity I could clearly see how ragged and disheveled they were, their once-gleaming armor now tarnished, dented, and bloodstained.

"O Cathain, great goddess of war, what must we do? How can we triumph?" they asked me. 

I discovered that I knew what to say. 

"Follow my lead, noble soldiers, and I shall lead you to victory!" I shouted, then was deafened by the cries and yells of the men. I glanced sideways at my best friend, my partner in all things, my loverand he nodded. Together, screaming our battle cry, we lead the charge against the mass of enemy soldiers. Swinging their enormous broadswords, the battle was on. The Witchblade, in gauntlet form, was in place, at my right wrist, and its own sword showed no mercy to my adversaries. The battle was won. We watched as the frightened remnants of their army scattered to the four winds.

I woke from my unusual dream an hour later. By this time I was really confused.

"Hey, Pez," a voice said at my left. I jumped, and the voice laughed.

"Danny! Jeez, are you just trying to make me have a heart attack and join you on that side of the grave?" I asked angrily, for he had just appeared out of nowhere, as was his custom. Another of the Witchblade's perks was that I could see and hear him. Unfortunately, talking to him in certain places was not wise, because people thought I was a lunatic since they couldn't see whom it was that I was addressing. 

"Sorry, Pez, but this side's not ready for you yet. Believe me," he said. I smiled.

"So, how's the afterlife?"

"Pretty slow right now. Just thought I'd check in, but you were asleep, so I waited. Not like I had anything else to do."

"Right. Well, did you happen to see the dream?" I asked.

"Not really. A few parts, but nothing helpful," he said. I filled him in on all the interesting details.

"So do you have any idea what it was about?" I asked him. "What it could mean?"

"Umm" he said, not wanting to say what I knew he was going to say.

"Let me guess. You can't tell me?" 

Silence.

"That's what I thought. You know, Danny, seeing you is great, but you're not much help on these things," I said, hitting my head on the desk in frustration and letting it stay there. "I wish that there was some way that I could actually get a straight answer from someone when I asked a question, not all these cryptic messages that mean nothing when I hear them and then I figure them out when it's almost too late."

"All I can say is that it was probably a memory from a past life or something. Gotta go, Pez. See you," he said, and vanished.

"Thanks a lot," I muttered into the cherry wood. Normally hearing that my vision was a carryover from another Wielder wouldn't bother me, but this time it did. It bothered me a lot, in fact. And there was one, simple, tiny, almost insignificant, extremely unusual, and slightly disturbing reason why

The face of my ally in battle, my friend, my partner, my lover in the dream unmistakably belonged to Ian Nottingham.


	10. Chapter 10

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Chapter 10

It wasn't dark yet, so I chose to go for a walk to let the dream sink in uninterrupted. I was looking for somewhere peaceful, so I landed on the park near my apartment. Being a cop, and a very paranoid cop at times, I made sure my gun was loaded and holstered it in a side holster under my left arm inside my leather jacket. I also strapped another one at my right hip and made sure my badge was within reach. I wasn't stupid; I wasn't going to go walking through New York at night without some kind of insurance. Deciding I was adequately armed, I went out. 

There was a large monument at the park, a life-sized statue of Theodore Roosevelt that stood on two circular steps stacked into tiers and was surrounded by trees. I sat on the top one and stared at the clouds that had been dyed by the sunset over the treetops. I leaned forward and propped my head up in my hands, my elbows on my thighs, overwhelmed by all the strange things going on: the murder case, the dreams, Ian, and the Witchblade in general. 

Two words were sent out into the void

"Why me?"

That was a reasonable question to start with. I often lay awake at night wondering why all this had fallen on me. Why had the Witchblade jumped onto my wrist after the battle in the museum? Why did I always wear it when I had been free to remove it? Why did it choose me to wield it? Why had I been able to pass the Periculum, the ultimate test for the Wielder, safely? All these queries would probably never be answered. All I knew was that I was the one, the chosen one, and I had to live with it. The Witchblade, after the Periculum, had fused to my wrist, so now I was stuck with it. Don't get me wrong, the thing had its perks, definitely, but sometimes it was just too much to handle. I looked down toward the pavement, staring at the huge piles of leaves that had been raked up off of the grass by volunteers. They had yet to be packaged into garbage bags, and seeing them made me remember old times in the fall that I had spent with my parentswhen they were both alive. 

Stop thinking about that, Sara. The past is past, gone, finished, so just forget it and spare yourself the pain.'

The Witchblade hummed. Not a sound of warning, but the sound it made whenever Ian was around. I scanned my scene panoramically, and not seeing anyone, was puzzled. 

Confusion tolerance, Sara,' I told myself.

"Good evening, Lady Sara."

I jumped. My head snapped up. Ian was standing directly in front of me about three yards away.

"Ian? What are you doing here?" I asked, perplexed. I had thought I was just hallucinating about the Witchblade's reaction. Apparently I hadn't been.

"Something told me that you'd be here tonight, Lady Sara. I was hoping that you would be."

"Well, here I am. Was there something you wanted to ask me about? Because at the moment you might not find me the most animated companion," I said. For a moment I thought I saw pity and concern in his eyes, but after I blinked they were gone.

"I will ask in due time, Lady Sara. Would you care to walk with me?" he inquired. I thought about it for a moment, then nodded, rising from my perch at Teddy's feet and joining Ian.

"Where exactly are we going, Ian?" I asked.

"It's a surprise. Why, don't you trust me?" Ian asked.

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure how to respond. If I had been asked that a few days ago, I would have said, "No," without hesitation. But now, after everything I'd seen, everything I'd heard

"Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry, I was just curious," I said, and we continued walking. 

After we had been walking for a while, Ian pointing out some features of the park that I had never noticed in all the years I had been coming there, we reached an opening into a sort of tunnel. The dense branches of trees that had to have been over one hundred years old formed it. 

"Watch your head," he instructed me, lifting some of the lower lying branches out of our way. We walked down the path, and I noticed that although it seemed old, there weren't many signs that it was traveled frequently. Pine needles carpeted the path, for many of the trees were pines, and the fallen leaves from the few deciduous trees were scattered around inconsistently. 

"Here we are," Ian said, and I looked around.

Ian had lead me to a small clearing surrounded by ancient trees, older than those that we had passed under to arrive by many years. It was incredibly quiet, even more so than the rest of the park simply because it was removed from civilization so dramatically, and I marveled. My eyes widened as I tried to take in the entire scene.

"Wow" was all I could say, and it seemed dreadfully inadequate.

"I think of this as my sanctuary. No one knows about this place except for meand now you know, Lady Sara."

I turned to face Ian.

"Why did you show this to me? I mean, surely there's someone that might appreciate it more?" I asked.

"You are the only person I can call a friend, Lady Sara, if I might be so presumptuous as to refer to you in that way," he said, looking down.

"That wouldn't be presumptuous, Ian, that would be normal. And please stop calling me Lady Sara. It gets kind of weird after a while. Just call me Sara, or even Pez if you want to."

He looked appalled at the very thought of calling me something so informal as Pez.

"Okay, not Pez, then. Just Sara will suffice. I'm not nobility."

"I was trying to show the proper respect," he said, a little confused.

"Just calling me by my first name shows plenty of respect," I assured him.

"Sara?" he asked a bit uncertainly, trying it out. "Could I ask you something?"  
"Sure. Whatever you want to know, Ian."

"Why have you been calling me Ian only recently?"

"Come again?"

"Up until recently you were calling me Nottingham exclusively. Why do you suddenly start calling me Ian?"

"I have a habit of calling people by their last names. I'm a cop, Ian, and we don't use first names much. The only people that call me Sara are Irons, Joe Siri, and now you. Everyone else calls me Pezor Pezzini," I said, thinking of Dante but subtracting his added 't'. "It's getting dark. I think I should be headed home," I said.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked.

"If you want to," I said. "But if you have to be somewhere—" I said, showing him my guns and, of course, the Witchblade, "—I think I can manage on my own." 

Ian walked me to the park's exit.

"So, I guess you've got to go," I said.

"Yes. I hope to see you soon, L—Sara," he said with a slight smile. I had never seen him smile before. It certainly made him look less dangerous, and less brooding as well. I liked it.

"Well, good night, Ian. See you soon."

I had no idea how soon.


	11. Chapter 11

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

This is my favorite chapter, personally. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 11

I walked back towards my apartment without putting a lot of thought into where I was going. This would turn out to be a big mistake. Absentmindedly I went in a different direction than I normally took and by chance passed by a wide alley roped off by crime scene tape. I stared at it for a moment and then realized where I was.

I was right beside the area where the three dancers from the club had each been found, dead.

As I stood there, staring at the scene like an idiot, the Witchblade buzzed in a frantic warning. Unfortunately it came about a split second too late. Two strong hands clamped down on my back and pushed me, causing me to lurch forward. I fell into the strips of crime scene tape, feeling them rip apart under my weight, and I landed hard against the cobblestone-like pavement of the alley. Slightly stunned, I remained there for a few moments, and then my attacker (who was incredibly heavy, I realized) took advantage of my senselessness and pinned me down to the pavement even more. He then basically sat on me, really wanting me to stay in one place and I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as he leaned closer to me.

"Hello, Overdrive," he said in a hoarse, obviously disguised voice.

Instantly I realized that the person sitting on me was the murderer I had been after, and that I was now his target.

"We'll have some fun, you and I," he continued, stroking my cheek for emphasis, and I winced both at that thought and the fact that he was cutting off the circulation to my left arm. Thankfully it wasn't my right, because my counterpart with a great potential for damage was on the right arm. Slowly I tried to maneuver my fingers to reach the gun at my waist, but his grip was too tight and I failed to grasp it by mere inches. He kept babbling on incomprehensibly, meanwhile I persisted in trying to find a way to reach one of my three weapons and finally decided on using the most supernatural of the three. I willed it to appear, and it obeyed with a soft swish of sliding metal, which caught my attacker off guard. I extended the blade and barely nicked him with it but did enough for him to let go of that arm. I wrenched my left arm free and urged the right with the Witchblade and its business end backward at his chest, causing him to spring up off of me. I rolled onto my back and sprang up before he could pin me again. I wasn't about to be victim number five.

"Well, guess you thought you'd have an easy time with me, huh, ace? Well, think again. You've messed with the wrong girl," I said. Although his face was obscured by the night and by some sort of mask or facial covering, I could tell he was frightened by the gauntlet on my arm. 

"Next time you bother me, you won't be getting off so easily," I said, withdrawing the blade but keeping the gauntlet out and brandishing it at him. The guy bolted, and I, standing stationary, exhaled.

Great job, Sara. I think I can manage on my own.' Yeah, right. If Ian had been here, there would have been no earthly way that guy would have attacked me." I returned the Witchblade to its bracelet form and exited the alley. 

As I stepped out, dusting myself off, I heard the report of a gun and looked to my left. Time slowed down as the bullet, discharged from the gun of my attacker (which he must have forgotten about in the alley—how thick could he be?), sped straight for me. And then, for the second time that day, someone sprang at me and we both went flying. I landed flat on my back and looked up at the second person that had tackled me that day. It was Ian. We both heard the footsteps of the assailant die away as he ran for his life. 

"Are you all right, Lady Sara?" he inquired.

"Yeah, if you call having been tackled twice, pinned against your will, and threatened with things unimaginable all right. And I thought I told you to stop calling me that," I said.

He shrugged. "Old habits die hard." 

I smiled. "I think I'm okay," I said.

"You're fine, considering the alternative."

"A gruesome, painful death?"

"Precisely."

"Right. Um, Ian?" I asked.

"Yes?" he responded.

"You can get off of me now," I said as gently as possible.

He blushed scarlet and instantly leapt up, offering me a gloved hand and pulling me to my feet. 

"Thanks, Ian. You saved my life."

"Anything for you, Lady Sara." 

At that moment Ian was the quintessence of chivalry, a modern-day knight that was dedicated to protecting me, his lady, alone. That was kind of an interesting thought. Suddenly his reverent title didn't seem to bother me anymore.

"I should have let you walk me home to begin with," I said with a smile. Ian colored again. I stifled a laugh at his discomfort. His naiveté was sometimes very surprising because of how well trained he was in most areas. Unfortunately, dealing with women wasn't really his forte because normally it wasn't included in his duties. But at least he tried.

Ian insisted on accompanying me home, and I didn't resist his offer. The trip was funny because he kept sneaking looks at me as we were walking as if he wasn't supposed to. When I caught him, he blushed again and then stared down at the pavement until I wasn't looking and then he started watching me again. That made me start laughing and then he started laughing, which was really odd, and then people just stared at us like we were out of our minds, which wasn't really all that far from the truth. 

We arrived at my building.

"Are you sure you'll be all right, Lady Sara?" Ian asked, concerned.

"I'll be fine. I promise. Well, I'll see you later, Ian, and thank you so much for saving my life," I said, scolding myself because the farewell was so inadequate. It was then that I noticed a perfectly round mark of moisture on his coat over his left shoulder.


	12. Chapter 12

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Chapter 12

"Ian, are you all right?" I asked, reaching up to examine his shoulder. He drew back involuntarily. I jumped back, and something like guilt clouded his eyes.

"It's okay, Ian, just relax," I said, and he obeyed. I pulled him into the building and up the stairs to my apartment. When we reached it, I ushered him inside and made him sit down.

"Take off your coat," I said, and he removed the long, heavy trench coat and draped it over the back of his chair. As I had suspected, there was a bullet wound in the front and back of his left shoulder. Good, the bullet had exited. I looked around to find some supplies with which to clean the wounds.

"Thank you for being so concerned, Lady Sara, but it really isn't necessary for you to go to the trouble–"

"Ian, the least I can do is help you with this after what you've done for me tonight. Now quit trying to be the invincible assassin and let me take care of you," I said, cutting him off. He didn't challenge me, so I brought what I had found, which included some alcohol and various types of gauze, and came closer to him to apply them. Again he drew back.

"Ian, what is it that you have against me touching you?" I asked, a little hurt. 

He didn't want to reply; that was obvious. He said nothing, and I couldn't possibly hazard a guess to what he was thinking. It was almost like he didn't think it was right for him to come in contact with me physically. Nevertheless, I continued to do so. He needed my help, no matter what he thought to the contrary.

We didn't speak for some time after I finished, and the silence that filled my apartment was tense and incredibly thick. The only sounds in the entire room were the occasional splashes and glugs of liquids being poured and periodical hisses and groans of pain from Ian. When I had finished, Ian broke the silence.

"Thank you, Lady Sara. I should return to Irons; now is not the time to anger him," he said quietly, and before I could stop him he opened my window, climbed out onto the fire escape and vanished. I was sad to see him leave, and I was a bit frustrated because he still hadn't told me what he kept trying not to tell me. Exasperated, I got ready for bed and fell into a (for once) dreamless sleep. 

***

The next evening I decided to leave for the Angry Flame earlier than usual because I wanted to do some prying around the bar. As luck would have it, an employee that worked directly for the big boss, Gerald East himself, flagged me down. 

"Mr. East said that he wanted to speak to you about the events of the previous evening," the lackey said. "He wants to see you immediately."

"Thanks," I said. "Where's his office?"

After being pointed in the right direction, I reached the door to his office and knocked.

"Come in" was the reply muffled by the door.

I opened the door and stepped inside, facing Gerald East. He was a heavy-set gray-haired man of approximately 45 with few wrinkles and an intelligent-seeming countenance. His height was impossible to determine because of the way he was seated at his desk.

"Ms. Pezzini?" he inquired in a clear-cut voice.

"Yes. Mr. East? I was told that you wished to speak to me."  
"Quite so."

Quite so? Jeez, I hope this is over fast. So I have time to go puke before my set.'

"I just wanted to express my condolences about your attack last night. I am doing everything in my power to stop the heathen that has targeted my business and myself, and I am thankful that this time he was unsuccessful in his terrible plans. Rest assured, Ms. Pezzini, I intend to have thisthis creature apprehended by the authorities."

"Well, I thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I am fine. I have no doubt that this evil person will be captured. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go–puke'–prepare for my set. Thanks again, Mr. East." Saying this, I exited the office.

Well, that was different. I wonder' My thoughts trailed off.

My performance was mediocre at best, because I had other thoughts on my mind. At least, until I snapped out of my euphoria and saw the two people I would never have wanted to see in the Angry Flame

Kenneth Irons and Ian Nottingham.

OH MY GOD!' my brain screamed. What would Ian think of me if he saw me here? I frankly didn't give a damn what Irons thought of me, with or without the Angry Flame in the equation, and was thankful that my set was over. 

Time flies when you're in torment,' I quipped to myself. Taking a closer look I noticed that they were sitting too far away for real recognition and I leapt off the runway at the speed of light just to make absolutely sure they couldn't identify me, bolting into the dressing room. Trying to bring my pulse down a few notches back to its usual rate, I took several deep breaths. Ciara dashed in at my heels. I was about to greet her in my usual fashion for the first time that night, because she hadn't been at the bar to meet me like she usually was. She shook her head, signaled for quiet with a finger to her lips, and dragged me deeper into the labyrinth of clothes racks and materials that was the dressing room. She was clearly terrified, and I thought that it was about my attack, that she was scared that the murderer was after her next

Well, I was partly right. 


	13. Chapter 13

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Chapter 13

"Sara, I'm so scared. He was right, he wasn't lying, he said he'd hurt me but somehow he decided to go after you, why I don't know–" 

"Ciara, what the hell are you talking about? Who was right? Who's after you?" I asked, frantic to know. 

Ciara clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widened in terror; obviously she thought she had told me too much. The next sentence out of her mouth made me gasp.

"I know who's been killing the dancers from here."

"What?" I asked, completely incredulous.

"Please, trust me. Listen, we need to get out of here. If they find me" she trailed off, cringing.

"Okay, okay, let me think" I said, wracking my brain. I started pacing around the dressing room. Well, the only place I could think to go was my apartment, and if they had the gall to show up there then the Witchblade would have a field day. That and the fact that I had more weapons in my apartment than most armies of small countries possess, I felt fairly sure that that was the best course of action. I grasped her around the wrist and pulled her toward the back door, both of us breaking into a run.

"Where are we going?" she shouted.

"My place," I shouted back over my shoulder. 

I dragged her the entire block to my bike. We both got on, I handed her a helmet and secured my own, and we sped away. Arriving in less than ten minutes (Well, when you're motivated you tend to get places faster), we sprinted up the stairs to my apartment and then collapsed on my furniture.

"Ciara, why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"I don't know, you're the only person I can trust," she said.

"You're right about that," I said, taking my badge out of the pocket of my leather jacket and showing it to her. She took it, gaped at it, then gaped at me. 

"You're a cop?" she asked incredulously. She was clearly flabbergasted by this piece of information.

I nodded. "Detective Sara Pezzini, Homicide department of the 11th Precinct of the NYPD at your service. Now, tell me what's going on. This could be the news I've been waiting for forever. I've been undercover ever since I arrived at the Angry Flame, trying to find out about the murders and you're the key to the whole thing. Who is it?"

"Gerald East."

"East?" I asked. "Oh my God. Tell me the story, Ciara."

"Well, here goes," Ciara said.

"I've worked at the Angry Flame for about a year, and about six months in Gerald East called me to his office and we hit it off really well. After a while, we got involved and he said he loved me. God, I was stupid. I believed him, because no one had ever treated me like he did. For some reason he'd gotten a lot of money, from a friend, he told me, and he gave it to me to put toward expenses for my first book because he didn't need it and I did. I guess that should have been my first clue.

"I'd heard about the murders but I wasn't all that scared because I thought that Gerald would protect me from whatever was going on, because he had friends in high places. Love blinded me, and a few nights ago I heard him talking on the phone to someone as I passed his office. The door was open and he was talking about the murders of the girls, all of whom I had known well, bragging that he had committed them himself because they were annoying and so that he didn't have to pay them anymore. He said that they were asking for too much. Then he saw me and hung up the phone quickly. I ran away but he shouted after me that he was going to hurt someone I cared about. I thought it was going to be Luke; he and I have been buds forever, but it turned out that it was you. I don't know how you got away unscathed after the other three got killed, but I'm really glad you did. So anyway, he knows that I know about what he's doing, and now that you know, he'll probably want to kill us both."

"That's practically a certainty. I have a feeling that he won't get that far, though," I replied, absently rubbing the Witchblade as I said that. 

"I hope not. What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Well, I'll call the department and let them know about this, and then you'll have to stay low for a while. You can stay here if you want. I have one other question, though. Why did he kill Max Oakland? I thought they were friends."

"Well, apparently at one point they were really tight, but money and greed made Gerald kill him. He was paid off for it and he gave me the money."

"Who paid him off?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not really sure" she said hesitantly. Obviously she knew but wouldn't say.

"Ciara, did you hear anything about who paid East off? Because if you did, that's really important information and I'll need to know about it."

"Well, there was a name, but it didn't mean anything to me. It might not even register with you," she said.

Growing impatient, I asked as calmly as I could, "What was the name, Ciara? This is really important."

"Irons. Kenneth Irons."

I sat back, smiling. For once I heard something that actually didn't surprise me. 

"Well, maybe I can finally pin something on him," I said. Ciara just responded with a blank look.

"Will you agree to testify about this in court?" I asked, ignoring her response to my statement. "You would definitely make the district attorney and the prosecutors happy men and women." 

Ciara nodded. "Sure, I guess so. I mean, I want East behind bars for killing my friends." She looked at me nervously. 

"We won't worry about that right now. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. All your information was a lot of help. Now, just make yourself comfortable. We need to keep you safe. I've got a couple of really important phone calls to make."


	14. Chapter 14

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

This was is my second favorite chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 14

Ciara exhaled deeply and leaned back into the soft black leather of my couch, closing her eyes and trying to get a little sleep. I snagged my cell phone off the coffee table and went into another room so I wouldn't disturb Ciara, and then dialed the number to Jake's cell. 

"McCartey," he answered. Apparently he was still at the station on paperwork duty at(quick clock check) 11:47 PM. 

"Pezzini. Hey, partner," I said.

"Hey, Pez. What's going on?"  
"I have a serious gold mine of info on the Oakland case, as well as those three other murders."

"Really? Excellent! So, what's the deal?"

"The deal is that I need some serious backup. My source is with me at my apartment and she's scared out of her mind. Frankly, I am too."

"Sara the Invincible scared? Whoa, weird," Jake said. "Why?"

"Because the murderer came after me last night and could quite possibly have succeeded at knocking me off," I said. Jake whistled.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me?"

"Jake, there's a lot of stuff I haven't told you that's been going on lately, but I swear I'll tell you soon. Now, either get some uniforms up here pronto or set up a safehouse." 

"I think we've got one open already, so why don't you just come down? And hurry; the crook might have tailed you to your apartment."

"Yeah, that could be true–"

Crash.

My front door busted in, and Ciara screamed from the other room.

Damn!' I thought.

"Well, Jake, you were absolutely correct about that crook. Apparently he just broke into my apartment. I'llhave to call you back," I said hurriedly, hanging up instantly after saying this despite Jake's protests from the other end of the wire.

I sprinted into my living room, cursing to myself at the fact that I hadn't used diversionary tactics on the way to my apartment. Where had my brain been that evening? East was in my living room, holding a gun to a terror-stricken Ciara's temple with one hand and my badge in the other.

"So, Detective Pezzini, we meet again. Unfortunately I didn't learn of your other career until tonight–you seemed to leave that out of your application– or I would have eliminated you earlier," he snarled.

"Well, nobody's perfect," I said, shrugging. 

"So, where's that savior of yours now, Detective? Who's going to save your ass this time?" he asked. He obviously meant Ian.

I crossed my arms nonchalantly even though my mind was reeling. 

"I don't know. I don't own him; he just shows up when he feels like it. Just like my other little friend here," I said, extending my arm with the Witchblade on it. The stone was glowing a furious red.

"When it turns that color, that means it's angry," I said, explaining like I would to a three-year-old. As it got closer to East, who blanched, it hissed audibly. I know because Ciara jumped at the sound. That surprised me because normally it kept its feelings between the two of us: it and me. I glanced down at it and then back at East with an evil grin on my face.

"It doesn't like you," I said, stating the obvious. It transformed into gauntlet form, complete with sword, and Ciara screamed. East dropped the gun in shock and it slid across the hardwood floor to me. I picked it up with my left hand (my right being somewhat occupied at the time) and brandished both of my weapons at him. Training the gun on him and withdrawing the Witchblade's sword but keeping it in gauntlet form, I said, "Let go of Ciara and back against that wall or you and my friend will meet each other a little too intimately. And that means pain for you." He complied somewhat angrily, standing against the wall opposite me. 

"Ciara, get off the couch and stay somewhere behind me," I instructed. Ciara, so thunderstruck by everything she had found out in the last ten minutes, followed my instructions in a mild state of shock. 

"So, you were saying, East? Who's got who now?" I said. 

"You won't get away with this, Detective. You'll go down for murder."

"Murder? Who said anything about murder? I'm not going to kill you, although my friend here still wants me to, but she's always been a little bloodthirsty, so I won't listen to herthis time. However, you'll be locked up so tight that the sun won't even get through to where you are. I can assure you of that."

All of a sudden Jake and three uniforms showed up, bursting throughair, I guess, because my door had already been defeated. I thrust my right arm behind my back. The Witchblade vanished and reappeared as a bracelet.

"Pez? You okay? I booked it over here when you hung up."

"Yeah, fine. I have reason to believe that this guy is our murderer and plus he broke into my house and threatened to kill my friend here, not to mention that this is the second time he's tried to kill me in the last two days," I said. Ciara looked visibly shaken. 

Jake and the other cops swarmed around East, trying to cuff him, but somehow he got his hands on one of the uniform's guns in the struggle, aimed it at Ciara, and fired. He was trying to get rid of the most valuable witness in the case. The murderer could get off without her testimony. My brain didn't register what I was doing until after it happened. 

Under normal circumstances I would have just used the Witchblade to make the shot ricochet away harmlessly, but in front of Jake and the three uniforms I had no choice. I couldn't let them know about the Witchblade, and they'd all think East was crazy if he mentioned it. Time slowed down as I leapt in front of a terrified Ciara, and a searing, white-hot pain sliced through my left shoulder. The bullet's impact violently knocked me backward. The last thing I saw was Jake's horrified face and the last thing I heard was Ciara's anguished scream before everything went black.


	15. Chapter 15

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Chapter 15

It was the Witchblade that finally awakened me hours later, not people or pain. It hummed with worry and panic, waiting to know about the fate of its Wielder. I barely moved my shoulder, my eyes still closed, and instantly regretted it. The searing pain was still there and seemed many times worse, feeling as though it were on fire. I groaned quietly. My hearing returned next. Apparently Jake and Ciara were in the room with me, wherever that was, and they were speaking in hurried whispers about nothing that I could hope to fathom. 

I decided to please the masses and actually wake up. I slowly opened my eyes, the lids of which seemed heavier than lead, and squinted at the sudden introduction to the bright fluorescent lights of the room. My eyes gradually focused and I studied my surroundings. I was in a pallid white room: a room in St. Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan. I shifted a bit in my bed, causing the gurney to creak and Ciara and Jake's heads to whip around. Seconds later they swooped down on me:

"Sara!"

"Pez!"

"You're awake!"

"How are you feeling?"

"Does your shoulder hurt?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. I might look awake but my brain is still struggling somewhere around Sara!' So you guys might just have to take it one question at a time."

"Are you okay? We thought—" Jake didn't want to finish, so Ciara did for him.

"—We were really afraid that we'd lost you."

"Did you guys bag East?" I asked weakly. 

Jake nodded cheerfully. "Yeah. When you went down I ran over to you, but I was the one holding East and he thought he could escape. Unfortunately the uniforms didn't agree with him, and he ended up at the bottom of an approximately 600-pound dogpile. Needless to say, he's very uncomfortable right now, in a cell so deep that the sun doesn't shine that low."

I smiled feebly at his choice of words. "At least there's that."

"And I'm going to testify and make sure that that slimeball doesn't ever get out of jail," Ciara said eagerly.

Just then the nurse entered and grasped Jake and Ciara by the wrists. 

"I'm sorry, but there are other people waiting to see Ms. Pezzini and there isn't much time left in the visitation hour. I'm afraid you two will need to leave."

"Bye, you two. You're not rid of me yet," I said, giving them a brighter smile as they left. 

"Nurse?" I asked when they were gone. "What happened to me? I mean, what did the doctors have to do?"

"Well, Ms. Pezzini—" 

"—Please, just call me Sara."

"Oh. Okay, well, Sara, you were in pretty bad shape when you got here. You've lost a lot of blood, so you might be feeling somewhat anemic for a while. Also, the bullet didn't exit your wound, so they had to go in and take it out. But that's all I know. Oh, your next visitor is waiting. I'll bring him in."

I don't know whom it was that I was expecting, but I certainly wasn't expecting the man that showed up at my bedside. 

"Lady Sara! Are you all right?" Ian Nottingham was standing beside me.

"Please, nurse, a few moments alone," I asked. If we started discussing the Witchblade, then things would get very weird very fast. She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her with a sharp click.

Ian looked at me sadly. "I have failed you, Lady Sara. I apologize. You should not be suffering."

"What, would you rather be lying here? Don't be ridiculous, Ian, there was nothing you could have done. You weren't there."

"But I should have been there," he said vehemently. "I should have been there to protect you. That is my destiny."

"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

Confusion tolerance, Sara, remember the confusion tolerance,' I thought.

Hearing the nurse's footsteps clacking up the hall towards my room, Ian replied, " In due time, Lady Sara. In due time."

The nurse, as anticipated, entered the room and escorted Ian away. 

"I will return to see you," he said as he was being led out. I nodded a bit too vigorously and instantly regretted it. I reclined against the pillows behind me and tried desperately to find something to amuse myself with. This was much easier said than done, for there was nothing in the room, not even a crack in the wall nor a chip in the paint that was obvious enough for me to fix upon and entertain myself with. I was in the deepest depths of boredom by this time, and there was nothing for me to do but sleep and dread the hospital food that would inevitably be brought to me soon. 

I was in the hospital for another week before I was released. Many of the only bright spots of the week were Ian's visits, which cheered me more than I believed possible. Weeks earlier I would never have believed that I would be growing fond of Ian Nottingham, assassin and Kenneth Irons's right hand man, if someone told me that I would be, but I truly was. They must have been especially concerned about me for some reason, and after enduring the incredibly unappetizing hospital food for the week, they released me. The wound had a bit of residual pain and stiffness left, but that was enough to be irritating. It was more difficult to use my arm than it had been before, and that was frustrating as well. The bullet had probably done some internal ligament or tendon damage and it hurt like nobody's business. But, being the independent person I was, I managed and refused help from everyone.

Arriving back at my apartment that day, I didn't realize how glad I was to be home. I had a little cleaning to do, especially since I had been lying on the floor bleeding for some time, but other than that everything was just how I'd left it. Now all I had to do was wait for Ian to give his mysterious speech to me, the one he had been doing everything to avoid.


	16. Chapter 16

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Chapter 16

The only good thing about having been in the hospital for a week, other than Ian's visits, was the fact that Dante wasn't driving me crazy. He actually gave me another week off with pay to let me recuperate. When he called me to inform me of this, I knew that the whole time he was wishing that the wound had been fatal. Well, some extra time off certainly didn't hurt. 

After cleaning up my apartment and resembling a vegetable for about two hours, I chose to get out of the rooms I owned and get a little exercise. I slipped my gun into the side holster underneath my disabled left arm, my badge in the pocket of my leather jacket, and left the apartment, locking the door behind me.

I decided to make a cameo at the small coffee shop near my home, for the dinner hour had arrived and I was famished. I ordered a sandwich and some coffee and took a seat at a tiny bistro table near the window of the shop, devouring my food eagerly. 

Suddenly my attention was drawn away from my meal and went straight up to the pane of glass separating me from the outside world by a knock on said glass. Ciara was standing outside the window. I waved ecstatically, totally out of character for me. She entered the restaurant and sat down with me. 

"So, how are you doing? I mean, after the whole East thing," I said, astonished that I couldn't think of anything else to say. 

"Oh, I'm great. The city's shutting down The Angry Flame, so Luke and I are out of a job," Ciara said. 

"Luke and you? Since when were you two a package deal?"

Ciara blushed. "Well, since just recently, actually. Old crushes die hard."

"I thought that was just old habits," I mused to myself.

"What?" Ciara asked, clearly quite confused.

The girl's got to work on her confusion tolerance,' I thought. Aloud I said, "Nothing. Don't worry about it. So, what about your writing? How's that coming?"

"Great!" she exclaimed, excited. "I just sent my manuscript to a publisher and I'm waiting for results. So, I'll keep you posted."

"Great. I'll be first in line for your book signing," I said with a smile.

"So, how's the arm?" she asked, blushing again and changing the subject. 

"It's been better," I said. "It's giving me a little trouble. But I can handle it. I've had worse."

Well, that was a lie. I had never had an injury this severe before. I had been shot countless times, for that was part of the job, but the wounds had never effected the way that a limb had worked. I just hoped that the use of my arm would gradually return to full strength. 

"Well, it was great seeing you, Sara. I just had to come in and talk to you, but I've got to go. I promised Luke I'd meet him at a restaurant downtown, and I'll be late if I don't leave right this second."

"Hey, call me whenever you want to. I'm in the phone book," I said, looking for one of my cards and realizing that I left them back at the precinct.

"Okay, sure!" Ciara said. "See ya, Sara."

"Bye, Ciara."

I finished my dinner and then left the restaurant, heading back for my apartment. I made it to the outside of the building.

"At least she's not in that place anymore. I'm glad for that," I said to myself as I reached for my key to unlock the door.

At the instant that my hand touched the cold metal of my door key, my cell rang in my jacket pocket. I dropped the keys back into the pocket and reached into the inside pocket of the jacket, withdrawing my cell. 

"Pezzini. What?" I asked.

"Hello, Sara."

The oil in the voice let me know instantly who was dialing my unlisted cell, the only person other than Jake and Ian that seemed to know it.

"Irons, what do you want? Do you bother me for fun?" I asked, very annoyed.

"Perish the thought, Sara. I have invaluable information for you, and you must come to see me immediately. If anyone else told you this, wellI'd be desolate."

Weird,' I thought. And getting weirder, I know,' I continued as Irons prepared to speak again.

"You are close by, Sara. It won't take long, just moments of your time that will change your life forever."

"Irons, I'm feeling just barely generous today, so I'll humor you. But don't get used to it."

"It is all I could ask for," he replied, a disturbing note of triumph in his voice.

"Well, I'll be there soon. This had better be good, Irons." I prepared to hang up on him but heard a dial tone on the other end of the line. I swore.Why won't he ever let me hang up on him?'

I changed direction and started walking towards Vorschlag, asking myself the entire time why I was stupid enough to believe that Irons had something meaningful to say. I mean, sure, he was a veritable mine of information about the Witchblade, but even then the real treasure was few and far between, mixed with useless, confusing quotes. 

"Well, maybe this time he wasn't lying about the info," I said to myself.

Ha. Yeah, right.

I arrived at Vorschlag a few minutes later and Ian was outside the door, looking more troubled than I had ever seen him. 

"Ian, what's wrong?" I asked.

"You will soon find out, Lady Sara," was the cryptic answer. He opened the door for me and followed me inside. Together we walked through the tangled corridors of Vorschlag Industries until we reached Irons's quarters. I walked through the open door and noticed that Ian was no longer beside me, but had stopped at the door.

"Close the door behind you, Ian," Irons commanded from his position at his desk. Ian, with a look of loss that broke my heart and yet puzzled me, followed instructions, shooting a warning look at me, telling me to be careful. I nodded slightly, then turned to face Irons, feeling embarrassed for Ian. Then Irons did something rather out of character. He stood up. 


	17. Chapter 17

The Angry Flame

By Divamercury

Chapter 17

For the longest time I had wondered if he had had problems with his legs, but apparently he just preferred to sit. He came over to me, and I felt nervous. I realized that at this proximity, Irons scared me. I backed up a little, but he closed the distance between us.

"Sara, each Wielder has had a powerful protector, a guardian through all adversity. Sometimes it went so far that the pair became close in other ways," he said, and mentally I shivered. I never wanted to be that close to him. 

"But I digress. So, you are a Wielder. Who is your protector, Sara?"

"I don't know anyone that fits that description," I said bluntly, speaking the truth.

"Oh, I think you do, Sara. Who provides you with information about the Witchblade? Who has also worn the Blade and felt–and still feels–what you feel?"

If he felt what I was feeling at that moment, he didn't let on. Total disgust was running through my veins. 

"I am that man to you, Sara. It has been that way throughout history."

"Really? That's interesting, Irons. But the truth is that I thought you had to love someone you were that close to, and you don't exactly give off love vibes."

He came closer to me, apparently trying to touch my face. 

Not bloody likely.

The Witchblade appeared in its gauntlet form and came between him and me. 

"Try it and you'll wish you hadn't," I said, elongating the blade enough so it barely touched Irons's hand. He withdrew this extremity quickly and looked at me in disbelief.

"You know, as much as I enjoy these little chats of ours, I have to say that I have much better things to do, so if you'll excuse us–" 

The "us" was very pointed, implying the Witchblade and myself.

Irons returned to his chair in defeat, and I was surprised to find that he didn't have some biting parting statement on the tip of his tongue. I turned and left out the front door of the building, having entered through the side. I left the scene as quickly as possible, barely believing what had just happened. I needed a showerbadly. I felt filthy at the thought at how close that man had been to me. 

After the longest shower I had ever taken, I dried my hair and got dressed in sweats, prepared for bed when the time came. I curled up with a book, my back facing the windows. When I had been stationary, fully absorbed in the mystery I was reading, for an hour, my lamp suddenly went out. The light of the full moon streamed in from behind me, bathing the room in its pearly glow.

"What the hell? How could I have blown a fuse with just a lamp?" I asked myself. I couldn't have, I realized, and I hadn't done so. The clock on my microwave in the kitchen was still on. I realized that the lamp must have had some help. My hand instinctively reached for the gun behind the throw pillow of my couch, but then I realized who it had to be.

"Where are you, Ian?" I asked. My dark knight emerged from the shadows on the opposite end of the couch, directly beside my lamp. 

"I apologize for disturbing you, Lady Sara, but it was a matter of grave importance that brought me here tonight. I simply must speak to you."

"Well, sure. Go ahead," I said, standing up and not bothering to turn on another light. I walked across the room to put my book away and Ian appeared in front of me.

"What was Irons talking to you about earlier?" he said almost fiercely, coming close to me.

"He was talking about being my protector or something," I said. 

Ian's look that responded to my statement disturbed me.

"Did he kiss you?" he asked me.

"No. He tried to do something, but the Witchblade didn't like it. It told him to look but not touch," I said. 

This time Ian looked like he was trying very hard not to sing. 

"The Witchblade didn't accept him?" he asked, slightly incredulously.

"If it had been a snake then it would have bitten him and enjoyed itself immensely," I said. 

Ian said nothing for a time. When he found his voice, he said, "He was lying, you know. About being your protector. It is another that protects you."

"I figured that. Well, wish he'd make his presence known," I said with a sigh. Ian stared down at the floor, masking his expression in the shadows of the dark room.

"Well, I'd best be going, Lady Sara. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't accepted him." He walked toward the window and was about to climb out when I spoke up.

"Did you think I would?" I asked him. He stopped and turned to face me.

"Wielders in the past have been fooled by him, Sara. True Wielders could not discern the fact that he was inherently evil. I was afraid" he trailed off.

"Afraid of what? That I might not be a true Wielder? That I wouldn't be able to see through him? Ian, please, I thought you knew me better than that. I knew he couldn't be trusted from the first moment was in the same room with him. Trust me on this, I won't let him get the Witchbladeor me, either. I know he isn't what he wants me to think he is: a helpful benefactor for me. Ha. He'd help me all right, help me right into an early grave." I stood up and went over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate your concern, Ian. I really do."

"I really must go," he said, even though the look in his eyes told me that that was the last thing he wanted to do. He climbed out of the window and was gone, melded into the night, before I could say another word. I closed the open window, shutting out the night air, and got ready for bed. As I pulled the sheets up around me, I thought of Ian. Who did he mean to say my protector was? Or did he know who it was? Did I know who it was? I lay back against the pillows behind my head and sighed. 

"Too many mysteries came with you," I said to the Witchblade, which was lying dormant on my wrist. "Why won't you show me the answers?" After I had thrown this question to the void, I could have sworn I heard someone say, "All in good time, Sara." The crazy thing was that I thought it was Ian. 

"All in good time," I repeated. "You should have come with an instruction manual. It would have saved me a lot of time." With that I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to my dreams, where my protector was waiting for me. Soon I would know him, see him somewhere in my life, but until that time, the angry flame of passion would have to wait for its stimulus. 

The End


End file.
